Alice in Newsieland
by Ringolevio
Summary: But it was too late to go back, and with dread, Alice acknowledged that fact. Whether she liked it or not, this was her life now, and against her better judgments, it was going to stay that way. Alice tried to envision a bright future, but it wasn’t easy.
1. Chapter 1

Alice Rogarshevsky slammed the door shut out of her tenement flat and tromped down the stairs in a rage. Her breath came out in sharp, incensed rasps. She took one glance at her flat door, considered returning to her grieving mother, decided not to, and proceeded to march down the four flights of stairs to the entrance of the tenement and into the crowded streets.

In her hand she clutched a dollar, and Alice tried not to sense the crackle of the material every time her hand clenched in frustration. Though, her hopes were futile, and guilt rushed into her chest, strong and wretched. That dollar held in her fingers would rid her impoverished family a few meals, no doubt, but Alice's need of escape overruled the impulse to return the money to her mother and two brothers.

Alice tugged the door open and stared at the bustling throng of Baxter Street – the heart of the Jewish district. Alice paused to catch her breath, and without another hesitation, dashed across the street and lost herself within the horde of pushcart vendors, children, mothers and an assortment of peddlers. Alice's eyes searched ravenously for a garment shop – her key for a disguise – and proceeded to run up and down the street.

Finding none, and crying in frustration, she set her concentration of various pushcart vendors. She spotted a man with a stall of boys' suspenders, and rushed over to him.

"For a brother?" the man asked kindly in Yiddish, and Alice nodded curtly.

"_Ja_," she muttered, and presented the vendor with the dollar.

The vendor's eyebrows flew up into his cap as he registered the money – there was a large chance he had never seen so much cash in one sitting. With trembling hands, he took the dollar, and exchanged the change. Alice pocketed the eighty-five cents' change, picked out a blue-and-green suspender from the stall, murmured, "_A sheynem dank_," and continued to search for her other supplies – knickers, a flat cap, a button-down shirt, and a yard of cloth.

She quickly purchased the following items, and entered a filthy and hidden alleyway. With her breathing accelerating in panic, Alice carefully created a barricade of boxes around and ducked low so no one would see her. Then she hurriedly sheared off her dress, grabbed the bundle of cloth, and began to wrap it around her chest. All the while her eyes never ceased to rove around the alley for any unsuspecting intruders.

When she was sure her chest was tightly bound, she tugged on the shirt and knickers, snapped on the suspenders, and arranged her hair into the cap, noting to herself the need for a trim. As she tucked in the last lock of hair, Alice couldn't help but feel a wave of sadness overcome her. If it wasn't for her drunken old man, Alice wouldn't have been forced to escape to the streets and live as a newsboy. If it wasn't for his alcoholism, she would have still been in a dress, working at her old garment shop.

But it was too late to go back, and with dread, Alice acknowledged that fact. Whether she liked it or not, this was her life now, and against her better judgments, it was going to stay that way. Alice balanced her situation in her head. It was either stay to the streets, or return to her enraged father, who, without a doubt, would immediately beat her until she couldn't move. Alice bit her lip, and shook her head, wishing the image of her father's expression to leave her head.

With an elongated sigh, Alice stuffed her dress into a trash can. Arranging her cap so that the visor overshadowed her eyes, she turned on her heel, and exited the alleyway. Alice tried to envision a bright future, but it wasn't easy, seeing only hard times ahead.

And so, at fourteen years of age, Alice Rogarshevsky left home and became a newsie.


	2. Chapter 2

Alice turned down Duane Street, keeping to the sidewalk and averting company. A couple of girls her age eyed her with curiosity, but Alice paid them no mind and continued on her way to the Lodging House a little ways down. Her cousin, Curly, once mentioned the House to her, and Alice hoped it would hide her from her hellish father for a couple months. She walked up to the tall seven-story building with trepidation, and craned her head to perceive the entire whole of it. The seventh-story blocked out the setting sun entirely. She focused on a large sign on the third floor: _Newsboys' Lodging House_.

"Hey, buddy, are ya gonna stay dere da 'tire day, or go inside?" an impatient voice boomed behind her.

Alice's breath caught in her throat, and she whipped around to see an amused, zesty-smile of a boy about sixteen grinning at her. He had sandy hair and dancing brown eyes. Alice's eyes immediately roved over an eye patch covering his left eye, and then she looked away, struggling not to stare.

The boy cocked his head in confusion, and said, "Are ya deaf, or somethin'?" he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted, "What – is – yer – name?"

Alice flinched at the volume, and racked her brain for a fitting name. "Uhm . . ." she faltered. Suddenly, the image of her cousin's face popped before her eyes, and she shouted surely, "Curly!"

The boy's eyebrows rose. "Curly?" he repeated, and Alice nodded enthusiastically. "Alrighty – da name's Kid Blink." He stuck his chest out importantly. "Nice t'meetcha!"

Alice dipped her head in acknowledgement. "Oh, um, I bedda let ya t'rough," she muttered in harsh English, careful to speak in a low tone. She stepped aside to allow Kid through, but he simply remained where he was and continued to stare at her quizzically.

Suddenly, Alice's heart began to race. _Surely_ he spotted her guise and recognized her true gender. Alice closed her eyes in defeat. She knew it was only a matter of time.

"What's yer last name?" he questioned kindly, and Alice, exhaling in relief, quietly responded, "Rogarshevsky."

"Ah – are yer a greenie?"

Unsure of what a greenie was, Alice hesitated, and made a half-shrug. Blink appeared satisfied.

"Alrighty Curly, lemme me show ya 'round dis joint. Yous ain't gonna make it one day in dis city if yous don't knows wheres t'go," he warned, and clapped a hand around Alice's shoulders. "Lemme introduce ya t'da gang and den I's can shows ya around da place, m'kay?"

"Alrighty," Alice mimicked nervously, and Kid emitted a great, enthralled laugh.

Blink led Alice toward Newspaper Row, a center specifically for the distribution of newspapers located in Chatham Street. The office buildings of Joseph Pulitzer and William Hearst were situated in Newspaper Row as well. A crowd of boys ranging from roughly ten to eighteen were laughing and wrestling in front of a large, ornate statue. It showed a stout, aging, important-looking man seated in a chair. Alice stopped and gazed at the writing on a plaque: _Horace Greely, February 3, 1811 – November 29, 1872._

Kid Blink tugged on her arm and said, "C'mon, Curl. Yous can check it out later."

Alice allowed Blink to drag her into the middle of the scene, where all wrestling ceased immediately. Dozens upon dozens of eyes stared at Alice with inquisitiveness. Alice blushed, and fingered her shirt cuffs anxiously. She bit her lip uneasily as Kid Blink introduced her to the throng of newsies:  
"Fellas, dis here's Curly Rogar . . . Rogar . . . Rogarsky. He's fresh offa boat so be nice t'him and don't be rough, 'cause I'll catcha later. Alrighty Curly, lemme name a few of me buds. Over dere's Racetrack" – he pointed to a skinny, grinning boy of about fifteen – "he has a knack fer gamb'lin', so watch it, if I wuz yous . . .

"Skittery." He gestured to a tall, blond boy with an apathetic expression planted on his face. "He's da glum an' dumb kid of da pack. Don't let him get ya down.

"Boots." A colored, cheerful boy of about thirteen waved heartily at her.

"Snipeshooter." Kid pointed to a soot-faced, small boy smoking heavily on a cigar, "Do ya smoke? No? Good, 'cause he has a weird hobby wid dem cigs . . . I'll tell ya later . . .

"Davey Jacobs." A tall boy with black curly hair and bright blue eyes beamed warmly at Alice and nodded his head. "Davey here issa Walkin' Mouth, 'cause he's all smart and alecky, y'know? Oh and here's his liddle kid-brudder, Les." A tiny, cute boy of about ten smiled shyly and waved. "Ain't he da cutest? Anyways . . .

"Okay, here's Mush – he's da romantic in da bunch." A tall, handsome, broad-shouldered boy of about sixteen grinned and tipped his cap. "We's calls him Mush 'cause he's all mushy 'bout dem goils" – Alice clapped her hand over her mouth to stop her giggling – "What? Ya gotta goil, or somethin'? Sis? Well, tell dem t'watch it, ha . . .

"Alrighty. Da rest are its: Dutchy, Snoddy, Bumlets, Pie Eater, Specs, Itey, Jake, Snitch, Crutchy, ya de ya de ya."

"Hey, Blinky, ya forgot 'bout me!" a jolly, low voice called.

Alice turned around and gaped at a tall, smirking boy at about seventeen years of age standing on the statue of Horace Greely. He sported a black cowboy hat and a red handkerchief that was tied around his neck. His brown hair was slicked back and his eyes danced with a notion of fun. He was, no doubt, the famed Cowboy – the leader of the Manhattan newsies.

Kid Blink took a breath gulp of air and wiped at his forehead. Laughing, he countered, "I ain't nevva gonna forget 'bout yous, Jack. I wuz just makin' yous t'be last so it be dramatic." He smiled testily at Alice before beckoning to Jack and saying, "Dis here is Jack Kelley – he's da leadah of all of us newsies in 'Hattan."

"That's right!" Jack exclaimed arrogantly, and he jumped off the statue dramatically without a falter. He sauntered over to Alice with a playful smirk plastered on his lips. "Heya, Curly. Nice of ya t'drop in," he quipped, appraising Alice with enlightened eyes.

Alice smiled bashfully, and said, "hiya."

"So, Curly, what brings ya to Newspaper Row? Ya wanna be a newsie, or somethin'?" Jack asked with interest.

Alice nodded fervently. "Yes, yes," she chanted. "I be a newsie, yes."

Jack beamed fondly and slapped Alice on the shoulder. "Considah it done, Curly. I'll teach ya in da ways of da newsie, an' considah youself lucky – ya learnin' from da best of da best," he informed with a leer and a smart jab at his chest. "There ain't _nobody _in New York bedda than _moi_!"

Alice declined her head in acknowledgement. "Alrighty," she chimed, smiling a little herself. _Perhaps becoming a newsie wouldn't be a bad idea,_ she mused to herself. _If learning to sell papers from the best, Jack, it wouldn't be so bad, would it? And these boys have no _clue _that I'm a girl. _She grinned despite herself. _This could be fun!_

Alice hoped desperately it would.


End file.
